Chapter 4

I heard something inside me finally snap, not with a clean break, but like a string stretched too tight, fraying bit by bit until it finally gave way, screaming in pain.

"Why?" I asked.

I'd asked him this twice before. The first time was after the family dinner on the seventh day after my dad's death. I stood in the garden and asked him why he was marrying Christina, but he didn't answer.

The second time was three minutes later. I'd barely gotten the words out when my mom interrupted me.

Now it was the third time.

Edward didn't look at me. His gaze was fixed on some empty spot on the floor, his jaw set like granite. "Some things aren't black or white."

"So, it's gray," I said. "That's the answer you're giving me. Gray."

Suddenly, I felt exhausted. Not the kind of tiredness from physical work, but a fatigue that seeped from my bones, like someone had sucked out every ounce of strength, leaving me a shell standing there.

"Alright," I said. "I get it."

I had no idea what I got, but I needed to say something to wrap this up. I turned to go upstairs, took two steps, and then paused. "What time is the reburial ceremony tomorrow?"

"Seven in the morning," Paxton replied from behind me, his voice calm and precise, almost robotic. "The car will be waiting at the door at six-thirty."

"Okay." I didn't look back.

The second-floor hallway was long, covered in a deep red carpet that muffled every step.

Portraits of the Francis family's ancestors hung on both sides, and my dad's photo was among them, taken on his fortieth birthday, wearing a navy-blue suit jacket, his smile relaxed and open.

I stopped in front of the photo and reached out to touch the edge of the frame.

The glass was cold.

"Dad," I whispered, so quietly that only I could hear. "I'm back."

No one answered.

Soft footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. I didn't turn around, but I could tell who it was from the faint scent of medicine and disinfectant.

"Charlie." Christina's voice came from behind me, gentle as a feather. "Can I talk to you?"

I turned around.

She stood three steps away, wrapped in a cream cashmere cardigan, her long hair falling over her shoulders.

The dim hallway light made her face look paler. Her eyes were huge, lashes impossibly long. She always had that innocent, breakable look about her.

As we were growing up, everyone said she was like a porcelain doll, something everyone had to handle with care. But I was the one who never broke, the tough kid nobody ever worried about.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"I know you hate me," Christina said, looking down, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. "But can you hear me out? Only five minutes."

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Go ahead."

"My marriage to Edward isn't what you think." Her voice was so soft that it was almost a whisper, like she was sharing something she found hard to say. "We haven't... We haven't actually been together as husband and wife."

I froze for a second.

It wasn't what she said that threw me. It was that she was telling me this.

"So what?" I said. "Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you, or do you want me to think you're some kind of saint?"

Christina looked up, her eyes already red. "I don't want you to misunderstand."

"Misunderstand what?" I stared at her, my words sharp. "That you like him? That you want to marry him?

" That on the night I was hurting the most, you accepted the proposal from the guy I've loved for ten years, as if you had every right to?"

With every word, Christina's face grew paler.

"Christina." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Do you know what hurt me the most? It's not that he married you. It's that you never told me. You knew before that family dinner, didn't you?

"You already knew he was going to ask Grandpa for your hand, but you didn't say a single word to me. You pretended everything was normal, asking if I wanted to go shopping the next day, right before I went to see him."

Christina finally broke down in tears. "I'm sorry." Her hands over her face, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I didn't know how to tell you. I was scared it would hurt you."

"So, now you're not afraid I'll be hurt?"

She had no answer.

I brushed past her and made my way to my room.

"Charlie!" Christina's voice followed me, thick with tears. "I never meant to hurt you. I never fought you for anything, not once. Mom and Dad always gave me special treatment because I was sick.

"It wasn't something I asked for. But Edward is the only time that I..."

I stopped, but didn't turn around. "The only time for what?"

"The only time I've ever wanted something for myself."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Well, you got it. Congratulations."

The door closed behind me, shutting out every sound from the hallway.

The room was as I'd left it three years ago. My high school textbooks were still on the desk, and on the nightstand sat a photo of me, Dad, and Edward, taken on my eighteenth birthday.

In the picture, I was grinning without a care in the world. Dad had his arm around me, and Edward was on my other side, a faint smile playing at his lips.

I turned the photo frame face down on the desk.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. [After the ceremony tomorrow, I'll be waiting for you at our usual spot. Edward.]

Our usual spot.